


Card XII, The Hanged Man

by willfulWhimsical



Series: Major Arcana, or A Series of Not-Quite-Alternian Stories [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, And Actual Appearance(s), Gallows Being Used For Their Intended Purpose, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Post-Scratch Troll Cameo(s), Temporary Character Death, The Signless's Rebellion, hoo boy AU ahead, the Summoner and Mindfang are the rebellion's soap opera, the trolls with age spans that aren't crazy in relation to each other, well mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3413183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willfulWhimsical/pseuds/willfulWhimsical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which:<br/>A mutantblooded preacherleader attempts to over throw the Queen, his greenblooded bodyguard and scribe is the one who gets things done, his jadeblooded lusus undergoes a dramatic change, and a tealblooded legislacerator attempts to keep them all vaguely legal or like something resembling it. Also featuring a red relationship between a pir8 and a cavalreaper (who are both in the rebellion), no less than 3 deaths, JUST1C3, and a pining after the same troll being a great basis for a caliginous relationship.</p><p>--</p><p>Or in other words, the Signless leads a rebellion against the Queen of Condescension, the Disciple is the rebellion's gossip mill, everyone knows the Dolorosa is a classy broad, Neophyte Redglare is tired of everyone's shit, Mindfang and the Summoner are totally a soap opera, and happy endings are a product of luck and hard work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1 Act 1

**== > **

**Be the Disciple**

_You are the Disciple, a legendary figure in the modern day mythology of the kingdom of Alternia. By modern day mythology, you actually mean the news. Tonight begins, as with most nights that preceded it, very calmly for you, the bodyguard and scribe of the Signless. The kitchenblock is quiet and empty. Hopefully no one will bother you until the moons rise. You can hear the Dolorosa puttering off in another block, doing whatever fashionable old ladies do._

Unfortunately for your quiet moment, another troll comes rolling in from deeper in the hive. She clatters through the doorway with cane already in hand. Her clothes are barely on, and you catch the glint of her toeclaws before they vanish under the table. Her grin is wide and toothy. You turn away to dig in the thermal hull.

“Your mane looks like it’s ready to rebel. I think I could hang it by itself at this point!” She bursts into laughter at the end. The grinding of your teeth is actually audible.

“Redglare, the sun’s just now setting. I think you have better things you could be doing. Like getting _your_ hair to look less like a catastrophe, or just generally attempting to be presentable.” You don’t mention the obvious bags just visible under her glasses or the way that disillusion hangs around her shoulders like a freshly skinned pelt.

“Hmm, maybe if you’ll whip me up a radical breakfast I’ll get out of you way?” You start pulling things out of the thermal hull in a very showy manner. Last night’s kill was marinated by the Dolorosa and is looking exceptionally tasty. Redglare takes a big sniff behind you. The clock ticks over to 6:12.

“Oh, look at the time! You have to be at the courtblocks at eight, right?”

She swears and jumps out of her seat.

You laugh at the glare she shoots over her shoulder.

That meat’s not going to cook itself though. You return to gathering the items to prepare something. Hopefully it will be edible.

By the time you have everything gathered the Dolorosa comes swooping in.

“Be a darling and get out of the way.” You oblige her.

As she starts cooking, you sit down at the table yourself. There’s probably a story in all the scratches on it, but you don’t personally know the trolls who donated their hive to be the rebellion’s headquarters. You’re not sure the Signless knows them all that well either; he does have that effect on people.

You observe the Dolorosa for a few moments. Her flowing clothes hide much of the damage she’s taken over the years. She bears scars from times you’ve never seen. Her gray hair is styled to perfection, and her clothes haven’t so much of a stitch out of place. Her skin is paler than usual, and every so often she coughs into the crook of her arm. She claims old age whenever it’s brought up. You’re worried for her.

Eventually your thoughts drift into reminiscence on the past sweeps. In the beginning it had been such a small thing with just the Signless having become tired with remaining silent in the face of the Queen’s oppression. Town to town he went gathering followers (including you) until it was as if it all had reached some sort of cosmic tipping point. There was a flood of support, and everything became such a headache. You are so glad that figuring out the logistics of supplying all of those trolls wasn't your problem.

The Dolorosa draws you out of you head again, “We’ll have breakfast and a crowded room in a few hours; I’d wager. Possibly a little longer on the breakfast.” She sits down across from you.

You smile at her, “Glad you got in here before I’d started. Who knows how long it would have taken you to undo that mess?”

“I don’t think you were meant for civilization, darling. Now, tell me how goes your recordings?” She takes a sip of coffee.

“I've compiled of all of his speeches so far, and I’m mostly through the more biographical work.” Your conversation drifts from there, and groggy trolls drift in and out of the kitchenblock as you talk.

The Signless himself comes in as the moons finally rise. He helps himself to some of the roastbeast stew, and you can’t help but giggle at his reaction.

“A little too hot?” the Dolorosa asks dryly.

“ _Mother_ ,” he says crossly, “a little warning would have been polite.”

“And how was I to know you would come and steal some of the breakfast?”

He pours himself a glass of water and sits down at the table with you, glaring at his lusus all the while.

You grin a little deviously, “Want to hear the latest romantic news?”

He starts to say something, but the Dolorosa waves him off, “Gossip isn't nearly a classy enough term, darling.”

You launch straight into the tale, “So everyone knows that our resident cavalreaper is horns over heels for our resident pirate, yes?”

“Everyone except for them,” the Signless says. You grin widely at him; you are absolutely certain there’s a romantic in him somewhere.

“Well, Mindfang came in with a shipment of supplies yesternight. She, of course, goes straight to the bar like any good pirate would. Guess who was already there?”

The Dolorosa is the one to respond, “The Summoner. How many drinks had he had by then?”

Your grin is reaching maniacal territory, “None, but he did have something else. The knowledge that she pities him and some real courage rather than the liquid kind.”

“He actually asked her out?” the Signless asks.

They both look so surprised, but you haven’t gotten to the twist yet.

“Yes! The kicker is that she turned him down!”

You didn't know it was possible for someone’s mouth to open that wide.

“Why?” he demands.

“She thought he was drunk again or had been put up to it. Rumor has it someone’s gone to tell her he was sober and meant it.”

The Dolorosa swirls her mug before drinking the last of it, “I imagine that will make the council meeting tonight quite interesting.”

The Signless stands up suddenly, “I’m sorry; I've got to go work on my presentation for tonight.”

Your sigh is small, but the Dolorosa picks up on it anyway and shoots you a look. You ignore her by stretching and leaning your chair back. She eventually gets up to prepare for the evening rush that will soon be pounding down the doors for her food.

Outside the moons are rising ever higher, and the wind skims the void between the hives. The sound produced is the same that desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

You have a feeling that’s it been a long journey already but also that something greater is finally in motion.

What an _odd_ thought.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clearly I've already tossed our canon tale up quite a bit what with Redglare being a contemporary of the group and the Condesce being titled as the Queen rather than Empress. Look for some sort of age comparison chart down here once we get into the swing of things.


	2. Act 1 Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Meeting finally occurs, the Disciple has a major crush, the Dolorosa isn't doing so well, Redglare also has a major crush, the Summoner and Mindfang put in an appearance, and several other members of the rebellion are ignored.

==>

**Disciple: Commence Meeting**

_As much as you’d like it to, it doesn’t work like that. You may be seated at an end of the table, but it’s the wrong one. The Dolorosa is seated to your left, and Redglare is on the other side of her. Mindfang sits anxiously beside Redglare, and the Summoner is on your right. Around the rest of the large table are several trolls who represent the rest of the rebellion. They cycle often enough that you’ve never bothered remembering much specifically about them._

 

 

While you’d normally enjoy waiting on the Signless to come take his seat at the head of the table, the recent development in the tale of the Summoner and his pir8 has made it… Awkward. Every time Mindfang’s gaze passes by him, her face hardens. The Summoner is clearly trying to remain professional, but if he has to try much longer, you think he’s going to scratch an entire section of the table off.

Redglare catches your eye and gives you a look of impatience. You shrug at her. She smirks.

She leans across the table in the direction of the open doorway and shouts, “Signless! Do you think you could hurry up a bit? Please?”

There’s something about the way she says it that infuriates you, like she has any right to beg him for something. Like she thinks he’ll move faster out of pity for her, not when you’ve been trying since you and he were teens and never got anywhere. Not with how he always sighs and looks into the distance (with the same sort of intensity he gets with his visions of his oft-mentioned utopia of the distant past) when somebody asks about his lack of quadrants. The traitorous part of your mind starts suggesting maybe _she_ ’s the one he sees in those visions. Your blood boils, and you…

You are so glad for the Dolorosa seated between the two of you. Her hand rests on top of yours, and you can see the damage your claws have done to the table. She smiles the weary smile of a woman who is done with your shit. You swallow and turn in your seat to face the doorway. That look means she’s going to corner you later to talk about you ought to turn your little dislike into a caliginous romance, but it’s not like you really hate her.

“Coming, Redglare!” the Signless yells. Redglare returns to her seat and grins toothily at you.

You _hate_ her. You hate her with everything you have, and in that moment you want nothing more than her to burn in the fires of her own lusus. Out of the corner of your eye, the Dolorosa looks smug, as if to say, “See I told you so. Pining after the same troll is a wonderful basis for a caliginous relationship.”

The Signless picks a wonderful time to finally make an appearance. As he steps through the doorway, everyone sits straighter and looks more attentive. The tic-tac-toe game that a few of the trolls you don’t know were playing disappears.

He smiles benevolently when he sits down at the end of the table.

“Welcome, everyone! Let’s get this meeting started, shall we? In the latest news, we have a marked increase in supporters in the capital, and also in the major shipping port…” He speaks of things you’ve already heard. In fact, most of people here have probably heard the news, but this is as much a recap for you as it is a debrief for Mindfang.

“... and we’ve opened a new route for supplies from the east. Now, Summoner, what’s your status?”

“The livestock and our other assorted animals are all doing well. According to Redglare’s Pyralsprite, their egg finally hatched. Apparently, it had somehow already been raising a grub. My descendant apparently met the girl-”

Mindfang interrupts, “My daaaaaaaarling descendant already knows the girl quite well. They were friends before I took her to be my heiress. The girl would, from everything Vriska’s said, be an excellent recruit. Not to mention shares a sign with Redglare here.”

Redglare seems to snap to attention from where she’d been resting her head on her hand. It must be shock, but you’re surprised she didn’t already know.

The Summoner half-heartedly glares at Mindfang before finishing his report, “Other than a few expected fights, things have been relatively quiet in the barracks. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Thank you, and now to Mindfang, recently returned from her long voyage.”

Mindfang leans back in her chair, looking a lot more comfortable in the limelight than she had looked without it earlier.

“Weeeeeeeell, most of my report has been written down due to the fact that it’s surprisingly boring! Her High Bitchiness’s navy largely ignored me and my ships except for a few skirmishes. The most important news I bring back is about my rival for control of the seas. Last time I was in, I mentioned how Dualscar had been laying low over the past sweep. Well, it seems the Queen’s most ardent supporter hasn’t just skipped town. He’s fucked off from her retinue entirely. Apparently, she’s dead set on doing something that he considered a betrayal.

If I had a clue where he was, I’d recommend sending an envoy with an olive branch. I may despise the guy, but he was the best damn admiral in her navy. However, he’s gone the way of a spider’s web in the rain. Nothing but the fact that he was there sticking around.”

One of the other trolls, you think they go by the Tinkerer, leans forward, “So you’re saying he’s just up and vanished? Poof?” They mime an explosion, and you have to hold back a snicker.

Mindfang smirks, “According to all sources, he left his holdings under the care of his descendant, the new Lord Ampora, and sailed away in the night. The man is at least thirty sweeps old, so while everyone was expecting him to gradually start handing over control, this sudden change of power has high society scandalized.”

The Dolorosa shakes her head, “That man has been at least thirty sweeps old for the past thirty sweeps. Whatever deal the Queen made with that demon, it either gave her the power to extend his life, or he was in on it.” She starts coughing when she's done speaking.

The group sobers at the thought of the demon. You know the story well and believe it too. In the murky pasts when the rule of the Queen began, which the date no one knows well (Thirty sweeps ago? Sixty? Ninety? More?), it’s said she made a deal with a demon for nigh on immortality. Generally it’s said that she sold her heart, but you personally think she sold it a little less literally than most. You’re pretty sure she’s fucking the demon.

You decide to break the silence, “What do we know about the descendant? I know we’re set on putting the Heiress on the throne, but how would he feel on the subject?”

Mindfang looks thoughtful, “According to the gossip mill, he’s friends with the Heiress at the least. Most trolls seem to assume that, like their ancestors were, they’re moirails. His personality seems to be entitled and snobbish, but the last real contact he’s had with society at large was a sweep ago. If he’s really ‘rails with the Heiress, it’s not hard to imagine her working to change his opinions.”

The Tinkerer pipes up again, “A sweep? Do you think the Queen could’ve been planning her betrayal for that long?”

Everyone looks towards them, confused. You, personally, are trying to figure out how they jumped to that conclusion.

They start to explain, “As a cerulean, I’d like to think I know a little bit about the upper class society. A sweep is about the average length of time to teach a lordling how to be a lord.”

Mindfang nods, “I can see that being true. It’s worrying, however. What could the Condesce be planning for an entire sweep?”

Redglare takes a deep breath, which catches everyone’s attention. She smiles shakily.

“I might have the answer to that. I wanted to wait a bit so as not to alarm anyone, but it seems we’re already on high alert now. Water cooler news says that the head legislacerators have been planning a raid. Of course, considering how they do have some suspicions that I may be a rebel sympathiser, I don’t always hear things in a timely manner.”

Chaos erupts. The Summoner has jumped to his feet, and you can just barely make out something about rallying the troops. Several of the other trolls are hollering about supplies and moving the injured or sick, and the Dolorosa is trying to ask Redglare something but her own coughing fit seems to be stopping her.

The Signless stands up and everything just stops as everyone waits for him to speak.

“Disciple, you have plans in place for something like this, right?” Something about the way he says right gives away that he’s worried. You’ve had these scares before, but it’s like he feels there’s something different about this.

“We’ve got evacuation plans that we can work on enacting. A lot of work has been already done, however. In my report, I would have announced the plans to start moving to the next safe house and hivestem anyway. We’ll start moving on the morrow. I ask that nobody heads out until designated, and that includes you Mindfang.” You square her with a glance, but she just tosses her hair and grins.

The Signless nods, “Very well. Meeting adjourned.” He leaves the room in a hurry; his cloak swooping out behind him. Everyone starts shuffling out of the room. The Dolorosa heads deeper into the building. You hope she's getting something for her cough.

Mindfang seems to take everyone's exit as some sort of cue and walks around to stand in front of the Summoner. Everyone shuffles faster. While they all want to be the first to break the news to the gossip mill, they do have a sense of decorum. Or, at least, you do.

You catch Mindfang starting to speak on your way out, “I’m sorry about the other night. I didn’t believe…” Her voice fades out as you stalk towards where you can see Redglare silhouetted outside in the moonlight.

You shut the door silently behind you, but Redglare has excellent spatial awareness.

“What do you want Disciple?”

You hiss at her, “I can’t believe you! I can understand not wanting to share your suspicions with the rest of the council, but I’m the head of security! You should have told me as soon as you suspected!”

She turns and steps up to you, “I didn’t have enough evidence! I may be the raddest legislacerator in the land, but if I went around going on the most basic of ideas, I’d have hung half the kingdom by now!”

“Admitting you’re not perfect now? Bet there’s other people around that’d like to hear it.”

She mocks back, “Admitting you're not a sweet, little housecat now? Bet there’s people that’d be surprised to hear it.”

“Everyone knows I’ve got claws and the skills to use them.”

“Prove it.”

 

If they both look visibly debauched when they finally drag themselves back to headquarters, well, the only reaction is a knowing glance from the Dolorosa.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been a wild... four months.  
> Seriously though, I've been busy, and I apologize to anyone following this story. To any new readers, welcome and I promise I'll try to keep the update speed a little faster.
> 
> We're going to roll with 50 sweeps being the average lifespan of all the blood colors averaged together, 35 sweeps for a rustblood and 72 for violet. Yes, I pulled those numbers out of my ass.  
> Age Chart:  
> Dolorosa: 53 sweeps  
> Signless: 19 sweeps  
> Disciple: 18 sweeps  
> Redglare: 15 sweeps


	3. Act 1 Act 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything goes to hell in a breadbasket.

==>

**Disciple: Stay on the Handle**

_You don’t even have to be told. Everything is moving smoothly along. Tents have been packed; trolls from the surrounding areas are all coming in to see if they need to move their lives to better support the new headquarters. Redglare’s been offered the opportunity to relocate departments, so you don’t even have to deal with her complaining about the new commute. Everything is fine._

  


Everything is not fine.

A troll you’re unfamiliar with has come screaming into your respite block.

“The Dolorosa! She-- Coughing and the blood-- Oh! Please, she-- Help!” You damn well knew that cough was worse than she was letting on. You race out of the block with only fervent hope on your mind.

You’re too late. Signless is huddled against her side, weeping. Others are around, but you only have eyes for the two of them. You kneel against her and take her hand, mindful of your claws.

She turns her head and speaks, “Meulin,”

Oh. Oh god. This is going to be big and important, and nobody has called you Meulin since you joined the rebellion, and you don’t know if you can stand being entrusted with this. You are doing an acrobatic pirouette off the handle.

“There’s a legend,” she begins before she has to stop, “No time to tell it, but lay me down and leave me,” she waves away Signless’s pleas to conserve her strength.

“I have no more, child. But listen to me--, leave me for three nights. There’s a chance…” The coughs take her so strongly here that large clots come up when she coughs.

“Porrim,” you beg. This is no time for wriggler tales, and even using her hatchname tears at you. You remember when it was entrusted to you, a quiet moment when she had mentioned how no one who had known it would ever meet her again.

“Do as I say, and if nothing comes from it, leave me for the sun to take.” She turns her head and smiles at Signless.

You rock back on your heels as she murmurs her final words gently to him. Her hand slips from yours, and when he meets your eyes you feel the greatest of pity. His face is tear stained, and his expression is pain of a magnitude you’ve never seen.

He looks at you. He sees. You see, and in all this pain, there’s a glimmer of affection, of pity returned. You’re in pain and probably pitiful looking too, even if not to the same extent. She was a bit of lususlike figure to you too.

This isn’t the time, but god you hope you're not imagining that he cares. That this might be enough to jostle him from his visions of the past. That whoever he sees when he goes off in his head isn’t Redglare, even if isn’t you.

Because it’s enough to remind you that pining isn’t tenable for forever. You’re not going to live forever, and the Dolorosa only ever wanted her children happy.

* * *

 

Arrangements are made. They don’t have three nights before they have to move to the next safe hive, but a local group knows an old hive just on the edge of the desert. It’s not too far a travel. They’ll leave her as she asked, safe and sound from the beasts. Then, they’ll lay her out in full state and sun. Demons and magic may not always be the stuff of wriggler tales, but resurrection isn’t something you can put your hope in. She’ll be moved there from her block upstairs tonight.

Signless sets a warm drink on the table before you. The scratches had made it seem welcoming before, a sign of the lives you were fighting for. Now every scratch is a tally for lives lost. He sits across from you, and you rest a hand on his free one. He needs the comfort more than you.

“I can’t believe we’re just leaving her.” His voice breaks in the middle, and his eyes are watery. You squeeze his hand.

“She wanted that. Just don’t get you hopes in old legends,” you gesture at the book he has clutched tight enough to rip the cover. He glances at it like it could hold the secrets to life.

“I know, but I can’t help myself.”

You smile gently. He smiles brokenly back.

You count it as a victory.

“As touching as this is, the security team needs you upstairs, Disciple.” Redglare, irritable as ever in the evening, storms in.

“So urgent they couldn’t tell me themselves? Or at least give you time to put on shoes?”

Redglare stops in place and looks down. Huh.

“I’m being called in on an emergency. Now, go earn your keep,” she makes a shooing motion. You’d stay, but Signless is giving you a look over his own drink. You settle for moving as slowly as possible. It’s the little acts of hate that get you through the day sometimes.

Redglare glares but continues storming to the door, breakfast in tow. Signless sticks his nose in his book, and you start up the stairs.

Halfway up the door slams open. Your first thought is that Redglare has forgotten something, and you turn to needle her. You rock with the force that comes when the doorjamb splinters into nonexistence. The door is long gone.

There are splinters up and down you, and your claws, the ones that attach, are upstairs waiting to be sharpened. You are frozen in a moment of hesitation. If you go upstairs, it may be too late, but if you don’t you’ll be next to unarmed.

You hesitate too long. There are legislacerators pouring in. Signless is being roughly dragged out. Someone grabs you as you make to pounce. You know you would be next to useless against this many trolls, but you struggle anyway.

He is calm however, practically preaching as he’s drug away. You can only think (ridiculously, ludicrously, and deliriously) that his book is getting trampled and won’t that just upset him? He is out the door, and you are collapsing like puppet without a puppeteer.

You turn, ready to roar your anger at whoever has kept you from meeting your fate with him. The Dolorosa with glowing skin and eyes and with sweeps upon sweeps removed is collapsed against the staircase, sobbing. You join her.

Time passes. Everyone is moving quickly, preparing in case they can make a rescue mission. There is one piece missing. You sit in the shattered hive waiting on the piece, on her.

She comes. You stand.

You shriek, “Why didn’t you warn us sooner? You knew! You knew! But you waited and now look!”

“You were his bodyguard! What were you doing unprepared?”

It’s the beginning of a fight that very quickly spirals out of control. You’ve got just enough situational awareness to notice everyone leaving to give you two privacy. The rest of your attention is entirely on Redglare. It stays that way for awhile.

* * *

  
Later, Redglare will stop dead in her tracks at the sight of the young Dolorosa, demanding to know why no one’s introduced her. She’ll tell her she’s beautiful, and you’ll have fresh gossip to cheer up everyone. As much as they can be. To everyone’s surprise (no one’s actually), Mindfang and the Summoner will have more misunderstandings. Life will go on, but for you? You will feel each night as it painfully passes and you tally it on the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I was going to update regularly? Ha ha ha, sorry. I mean it's been over a year. I feel bad. I updated my other fic at least? OK, I get it. Let's just go with school is stressful. So this may have been written in about one night of furious inspiration, so forgive mistakes. It's a little short, but there's also an intermission I have had written since last year so yay? Also with the posting of this chapter, this work is 5 pages longer than the original short story I wrote that it's based. So in case you were wondering, there is an actual plan.
> 
> Also whether or not Signless and the Disciple make it to flushed or not is up to you.


	4. Intermission

**== >**

 

This is but one of the legends told in the lands held by Alternia…

 

Long ago there existed a kingdom ruled by a benevolent queen. Under her rule the land entered a golden age, but, as all things do, her reign started to draw to a close. In those final sweeps, twelve trolls were hatched across the kingdom.

 

If their destiny had been known at the time, they never would have made it out of the breeding caverns.

 

As the sweeps passed they slowly gathered together, it is said they came to be known for their strengths. Though they were just children, the people knew they were the future of the kingdom. The queen was fully prepared to pass on her crown to her heiress among them.

 

But the last one, born of rage and the most mirthful of hellfires, was eager to resume the dark designs of an evil man from time immemorial. It is said that this one was a wild child dressed in bone. The truth of him is that he carried more than a little hellfire in him himself. The question of how he gained such a demonic nature is best left to the mists of history. All that matters is he embraced it fully.

 

The twelve were already fracturing before he joined them. The hopes and dreams and expectations of the kingdom were placed upon their shoulders, and underneath them they bent and broke. The little prince of mirth and rage just exacerbated the problem. 

 

They became a broken bunch, and the kingdom’s best hope became just as much a liability as anyone else. When the hour of doom drew nigh, the demon boy withdrew to the place between seconds with another from their group.

 

The disaster that was falling upon them was lost to the history just as much as the fate of the kingdom.

 

And the demon child and his friend? What became of them? Some say that none remain who know. But others…

 

Others…

  
Others say that this demon boy is the very same demon, known simply as the Demoniic, that the queen sold her heart too. That the writings by the Ψiioniic are the writings of that boy’s friend. That the secrets interwoven in the kingdom all stem back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're getting an opening story from the Wind Waker vibe, you should be. ;)


	5. Act 2 Act 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is overworked, Signless reappears, and the Queen makes an actual physical appearance with a speaking part!!1! Exciting.

==>

**Universe: Regard Passage of Time**

_Nights. Weeks. One perigee, then two. The planet keeps spinning on and on, no matter how much some wish it otherwise._

 

==>

**Disciple: Commence Meeting**

_You already did that awhile ago. It’s one of your duties now, in this faltering rebellion. And oh, it is certainly faltering. There seem to be less trolls everyday; some have gone into hiding and others preparing for more splintered rebellion. Mindfang sailed away on an expedition for new lands, just in case. The Summoner is preparing to move the livestock. There was a misunderstanding between the two before she sailed, but you… don’t really know what’s going on. You haven’t had the time for gossip._

 

You haven’t had time for much of anything, if you’re honest. You are trying hold together a disparate group even while they slip from your grasp. You look around the table as the Summoner continues to speak. These are hollow trolls, and your words are not enough to fill them.

The door bursts open. All your hands fly to your weapons; your entire group bristling. Silhouetted in the the first streaks of dawn is Redglare. Everyone but you relaxes. Dolorosa, on your right, even moves to adjust her cloak and hair.

Redglare is hoarse when she speaks, “There’s an execution date.”

You all flinch.

“I… found out where ahead of the public release. It’s not enough for a rescue, but I can take two of you with me.”

The room is as silent as a tomb. Each individual breath of those within is a roar in your ears. You stand on shaky legs, claws dragging scratches as you push yourself up. Your chair tips over and crashes. A gentle hand is placed on your shoulder, and its claws gleam in the low light.

“It will be us,” says the Dolorosa quietly and with force.

Redglare laughs hoarsely, bitterly, “I never expected anyone else.”

You pack. You travel. Shortly before dawn of the next day, you arrive.

Dolorosa adjusts her travel cloak, and Redglare leans in closer to her. Before you, stretching out into the desert, are tents and pavilions. Not only does the Queen intend to make a spectacle of Signless, she clearly intends to do it in the _day_.

None of you speak, none of you have been speaking. Together you move towards a pavilion with a roof designed in a such a way that there is a space you can hide in. You clamber quickly up, and Redglare follows after. She pulls Dolorosa up after her, and the three of you settle in.

There is no hope to rescue him, but you find yourself looking for gaps in security anyway. You find your bloodpusher is in your throat once you make eye contact with Signless. Or, you feel like you made eye contact anyway.

Across the expanse, he stands chained to a post in the middle of the gallows platform. Behind him, an awning protects the Queen from the sun’s deadly rays. Her retinue mill about her, and you watch how her laugh exposes her neck. The rage within you is a solid mass so unlike your hate for Redglare.

It gets lighter, and you shrink further back into your alcove. Dolorosa, daywalker that she is, simply basks in the small strips of light. Redglare is wrapped in her cloak and smirking. You watch Signless, but he hangs his head for the rest of the time.

The tents and pavilions and expanse fill. Trolls wrap themselves up in cloaks and squint into the light. How many of them are here because they believe in him? How many more are here in favor of the Queen? And how many are here just for the entertainment? You don’t know.

A cheer goes up as the Queen rises fluidly from her seat. Careful to stay under the awning, she begins to speak. She weaves a story that the crowd responds to, but you know just how much of it is lies. She turns to him, reaches out with her 2x3dent to turn his head towards her.

“Any final words, guppy?” She grins maniacally.

You wait, like the crowd, with baited breath.

He screams. His words are fire and vitriol and brimstone and contain none of the kindness that he preached. You can _feel_ the shock ripple through the portions of the crowd that knew of him. Shame appears on the faces of many that you can see. A small victory for him, then. Her planned circus has been turned into his final platform. The Queen’s grin drops.

The Queen hisses to her guards and assembled legislacerators. Two legislacerators step forward to unshackle him from the post. As one re-shackles his hands in front of him, the other pulls the noose down to the proper height with a quick jerk. They shove him forward and up onto a damn overturned bucket of all undignified things.

You look away. Redglare stays stoic, but then again, her glasses mask her eyes and half her face is covered in cloak. Dolorosa already has tears in her eyes, and her entire posture crumples when the crowd gasps. Both you and Redglare lean into her side. The crowd begins to disperse, much less jubilant than any other execution.

You turn slowly. Signless has been left there to hang until the gallows are needed for another, a warning for all who oppose the queen.

You will have your revenge.

 

==>

**Redglare: Wrap up Investigation**

_You can’t do that yet! It’s only been a day, and while you’re rad, you’re not_ _that_ _rad. Nobody’s_ that _rad. The Queen’s Court is like a wretched hive of scum and villainy. The information you need will take lots of sniffing around._

 

==>

**Fine. Universe: Regard Passage of Time.**

_Nights. Weeks. Six of them. Six weeks and twelve nights, in fact. Although that’s at least another week, you, the Universe, ignore it in favor of style. That’s just how you roll. Er, spin._

 

==>

**Disciple: Be Informed**

_Redglare comes tumbling in; her glasses are askew, and when she rubs at her face, you catch sight of the dark bags under her eyes. There are so few of you, now, to be surprised by her entrance. Your half-mad quest for revenge has driven a wedge in your once united cause. The Summoner’s cavalreapers have stuck around, but the man himself has sailed off with Mindfang. You got an update on the drama a few days ago; he’d accused her of running away, but eventually she convinced him to see her side of things. You miss them._

 

You miss a lot of people, Signless most of all. You continue to sharpen your claws as Redglare comes towards you. She has as overstuffed folder clutched against her chest like her life depends on it.

“Disciple, here,” she shoves the folder roughly towards you, “This should have everything you need to plan some sort of way into the Queen’s Court. Who you target after that is up to you.”

You take the folder and leave claw marks on her hand. She continues to speak, but you are already contemplating your attack. No one thinks the Queen can be take on her own. There are too many legends and stories that say otherwise. Too many that claim her undefeatable, but you have heard of just one story that says otherwise. In her sleep, her connection to the demon is at its weakest.

You look up. Dolorosa regards you worriedly from across the room. You avoid her eyes, ashamed. She has been close to you for sweeps now, as you trailed after the Signless. You know that Redglare will have marked some escape routes, but for the decision you have made, they are irrelevant.

“...a break-in at the office. I’m hoping they didn’t go through my things; if they report me, I’ll certainly be investigated. Not rad.”

You open the folder. All of Redglare’s carefully collected information is still there, but on top is a single note. It clearly was written in a hurry.

 

10:00 PM. AL0NG THE CASTLE WALL. WEST SIDE.

-HM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody even reads this I'm sorry. Also writing is hard and I really need to figure out what's going to happen in the rest of the series. Which will be prequels, sequels, and midquels in case you care.


	6. Act 2 Act 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Ancestor gets a speaking role, a Descendant gets one too, the Author really doesn't support the actions of, like, any of these characters, and death plays a major part.

==>

**Disciple: Meet Your Informant**

_ The forest is dark and shadowy around you. Beasts lurk in the undergrowth, but you do not have time for hunting. You sidle up to the west wall. A small light moves in the darkness. Smoke rises from it and up into the heavy cloud cover. As you approach, a figure forms out of the shadows. You recognize her from Redglare’s file; she’s a servant of the Queen identified only as the Handmaid. _

 

The Handmaid takes a long drag from her cigarette. 

Her voice is rough with smoke when she speaks, “Pussycat. You have your claws?”

“Always,” you say as you lift a hand.

She nods, “Rebel. End this tonight. That  _ queen  _ does not deserve life. She is thief.”

You nod; mouth too dry for a response. This could be the culmination of all your efforts. The wind blows through the trees. It plays no note that you know. The Handmaid tilts her head at the wind and looks into the forest. She turns back to you, eyes running over your face. 

Whatever she’s looking for, she finds. “Follow.”

She leads you through a crumbling section of wall and around the edge of the courtyard. The ground underfoot is a muddy trail worn the landscaping by hundreds of steps. You wonder if your meeting spot is the designated smoking place, and if so, you hope no one else needs a smoke this early in the evening.

At the end of the trail is a cheap looking wooden door. The Handmaid opens it and steps away. The inside of the castle is shadowy and barely lit.

“Here. Head to second floor. Respiteblock door is goldplated. Queen sleeps in late. I go now to cause death and destruction,” she pauses at the look on your face, “My accent is very thick. I mean destruction and distraction.”

She begins to slink along the courtyard path towards the front of the castle. A few steps down the path she stops.

She turns back around once last time, “Watch out for little maid. She very clever with whip. Farewell. I expect we not see each other ever.”

You square your shoulders and enter. It is as silent as death in the castle, and you take care to keep your steps from echoing. At the top of the stairs, you see the gleaming door. It’s slightly cracked, and a faint hint of sea salt wafts through the air from within. The Queen has always been said to smell like the sea and speak like melting gold, whatever that means. The first part makes sense for a seadweller at least, you suppose.

You push the door open far enough to enter. The Queen is still snoring away, a picture of perfect repose. You’re a little disappointed; you’d wanted a fight, but this way has a better chance of success. 

You aim your claws and sink them deep in her chest. Though the wounds are deep, they are just incapacitating blows to a troll as steeped in the supernatural as the tyrant is. It’s always been said that she made a deal with the Demoniic for conditional immortality. There’s scripture on the subject by a troll called the Ψiioniic. 

You don’t know if you meet any of the conditions to defeat her, but you hope so. The Queen’s eyes open, and she gurgles a scream. You can’t stand it, can't stand that this tyrant who has tortured a hundred thousand is screaming over what must be like a papercut to her. You lose yourself in the stabbing and the slicing and the clawing.

 

==>

**Disciple: Wait**

_ When the Queen’s Guard finally comes, you are soaked in tyrian blood. The legislacerator leading them is Redglare herself. She looks shocked, and you can only assume that it’s at the fact you’re still there. You hold out your wrist and lack any remorse. _

 

“Hang me,” you say with quiet confidence.

 

==>

**Be the Heiress**

_ You’re trying! You are reely new to this whole thing; the Condesce wasn’t very interested in teaching you to take over. Which makes sense if you’re honest. Without Lord Ampora, you’d be in some hot water! It’s a good thing your moirail has had some training in how to be a noble and manage estates; it’s come in handy for dealing with the queendom. Unfortunately, you can’t plan your coronation until you deal with the assassination of the prior queen. _

 

==>

**Disciple: Rest**

_ You will do that soon. You’ll do that forever. The sun sets over the gallows as you are lead towards them. You are not cuffed; no one thinks you a flight risk. The body of the Condesce has been placed on the platform. The Heiress has acknowledged her predecessor's crime. She steps over the body and waits for you. _

 

The little Lord Ampora follows close behind her. You can hardly bear to look at them; at 7 sweeps they’re still children. These are the children your rebellion placed its hopes upon. It is only death that you will be able to find out if they live up to those hopes.

Redglare pulls the noose down and sets a stool for you to stand on. You place one foot upon it, and she rests a hand on your shoulder.

She leans in close and whispers, “It’ll be a quick snap. No final dance for you. I,” she pauses. “I tied it myself.”

You give her a biting kiss and hope nothing much is made of her involvement. She steps back and turns her head, a drop of teal sliding off her mouth. You finish stepping onto the stool.

The little heiress steps forward, trident in hand.

“Any last words?”

You look at her and smile, “You’ll do well child. You are kind, and you will learn to be just.”

She steps back, and you look forward at the rising stars.

  
  


==>

_ A stool is kicked. A neck is snapped.  _

_ The wind howls through the night. The sound produced is the same grief plays to keep its instrument in tune. People slip out into the night, reveling in the bright future ahead. Others raise a toast to the fallen. _

_ Other still, a lone troll leaves two black roses at the base of the gallows. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I get bonus points for finishing this on 4/13? That would bring me out of the negative, right?


End file.
